


UNFINISHED: Curse My Lazy Ass

by Jeraspat



Category: Kick Buttowski, Sonic the Hedehog, Stickin' Around
Genre: (for the KB one), (for the sonic fic), Action/Adventure, Birthday Party, Character(s) of Color, Gen, Humanized, M/M, One-Sided Crush, Trans Character, big sister amy to the rescue (KIND OF), dumb kids being dumb, wacky hijinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 21:15:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3303713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeraspat/pseuds/Jeraspat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>good, but sadly unfinished fics that i really liked but could never get around to finishing!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Evening Run (a Sontails Fic)

**Author's Note:**

> a humanized fic written in late 2013-early 2014!
> 
> i don't know, sontails, UNDER CERTAIN CIRCUMSTANCES, has always been one of my favourite pairings, and i always thought it deserved better fanwork.
> 
> and HEADCANONS, LOVE THOSE
> 
> Tails - 12, brit-white, trans boy, chubby and freckled  
> Sonic - 16, trini-black, cis dude, tall and lanky with a spiked up afro  
> Cream - 8, biracial (brit-white/japanese), trans girl, kind of chubby and freckled  
> Amy - 14, aus-white, cis girl, plump, pale and very toned

  
Your name is Miles "Tails" Prower, and you've really missed this.

The cool, evening wind whips against your face as you continue jogging alongside your friend, the smell of fresh, _clean air_ and the sounds of ocean waves hitting the shore as they kept time against your short puffs of breath. It sounds like such a goofy thing to miss, but three straight weeks of motor oil and musky, _gross lab-stink_ could make even the most common "Station Square-brand Ocean Breeze" seem like a godsend. You breathe in the clean air with a little smile.

Your friend- always the perceptive one- seems to notice.

"You.... holdin' up alright, Tails?" he asks between exhales.

"Y-Yeah," you say with a bit of a start, looking at the older teen. "C’mon, I'm not THAT out of shape, Sonic!" You can't help but let out a little smile.

You quickly go back to looking ahead, but you can hear Sonic chuckle next to you- that deep, warm, inviting rumble that makes your gut drop in a _really pleasant yet familiar way __\- before he reaches over between strides and ruffles your orange, shaggy mop of hair._

"Dork."

And no, your pale, freckled face doesn't light up to a shade of red not unlike The Tornado.

... It does, but _still_.

\---

"But Amy-"

"But NOTHING, CREAM! The poor kid's been cooped up in his house for THREE WEEKS! THREE! I don't even know how anyone could even THINK, nonetheless be doing _plane stuff_ for THAT LONG!"

"I don't know... he still has some things to sort out on his own."

"Well, he can do that another time! I can't STAND to see Sonic moping around like that for any LONGER!"

"But-"

The door to your workshop slammed open and with a startled yelp, you jumped up from the puddle of drool forming on your desk to see Amy, (and a very flustered looking Cream) at your door. Along with her hefty, toned build, pale and sickly complexion, Amy’s _absolutely disgusted expression_ never looked more terrifying. (Not that you could blame her; your lab _was_ a gigantic, gross mess, after all.)

"H-hey... ladies..." you said with the smoothness and suave of an _incredibly_ sleep-addled twelve year-old boy.

"Don't mind me just... hard at work... on things..." you said as you vaguely gestured towards your desk... before yelping in surprise when you saw how soggy your blueprints and notes were at the moment.

"So, Tails..." Cream started, nervously running her hand through her short, brown hair as she surveyed the room.

You stopped desperately fanning at your notes with your hands to look at her.

"Me and Amy have been talking, and we both think that-"

"You need to leave the lab. Like... right now."

"Yeah..." Cream’s almond-shaped eyes glared pointedly at the older girl as she continued.

"You've been cooped up in here for a while, and spending this much time in your lab isn't healthy." 

"Well... I've been... really busy," you muttered, scratching the back of your head. You realized that... wow, that was a _pretty blatant lie_ , and Cream (obviously) looked skeptical. 

Amy snorted.

"You can go back to your "important work" later, Tails. Sonic's waiting for you."

_"HUH?!"_

And suddenly, your face lit up and your heart dropped and your eyes honed in directly on Cream, her equally panicked expression roughly translating to a very clear, _i didn't say anything, i SWEAR!! ___

Amy however, didn't seem to notice either of your mutual mortification.

"Well... not right now! I mean, I still need to find Sonic, and make YOU look presentable and not like a gross SLOB!”

She proceeded to lift you up by the scruff of your t-shirt, with Cream nervously skittering past the both of you with a plastic bag in tow.

“I mean, you need to be un-quarantined and all, but the LAST thing I would want is for _poor Sonic_ to die of sadness or something! Hanging with Shadow or Knuckles for THAT LONG can’t _possibly_ any good for his health…”

Tsktsk-ing impatiently, Amy started to carry you out of the lab, taking a quick whiff of your visage before scowling in disgust.

"Cream," she called out to the other girl, who suddenly stopped her trash-gathering frenzy to look back at her.

"Hmm?"

"We're finding the hose as soon as we get outside."

"Aye-eye," she replied, nervous titter still present in her voice. Cream quickly glanced at absolute squalor that was your lab, and with a deep, shaky breath, she sped past both you, flashing you a brief, apologetic smile.

You waved the flat of your hand consolingly at her, offering a nervous grin of your own.

"Heh... needed the fresh air anyways..." you muttered. (More to yourself, actually.)

"I had to stop avoiding this sooner or later..."

\---

What were you even trying to avoid anyways?

You quickly glance over at Sonic, still jogging with as much confidence (and oblivity) as he usually did.

Oh yeah.....

Your gut feels weird and cramped and you _know_ it's not because of the run. ("Hiatus" or not, you could still make this distance in your sleep!) It wasn't because of your impromptu "shower", (even during her deepest, darkest 'Sonic Moments', Amy would NEVER risk you getting hurt,) nor was it because of your because of your binder, either. (Cream and her mother made sure you could always run comfortably in it when they were making it for you.)

So why did you feel so... queasy?

 _"Maybe it's because of WHO you're running with?"_ a very Cream-like voice interjected helpfully.

 _"That can't be it!"_ you mentally reply- and you KNOW that that wasn't the first time you've thought that, either- _"It must be something else-"_

"Yo! Earth to Fox-Brain!"

A dark, snapping hand fills your vision, cutting your thoughts short. You look over towards Sonic, who pulls his hand back with a worried grin.

"Are you... sure you're doin' okay, Tails?" He asks with a nervous laugh. The older teen stops jogging, prompting you to do the same.

"Y-Yeah... just _peachy_..." you reply with exasperation. You suddenly feel so _frustrated_ and you can't place why.

Sonic's expression falters. He straightens up, lightly running his hand through his spiked, blue afro.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" He finally asks. He's squatting so that he's eye-level with you, and your stomach _flips_ , that damned blush now lazily creeping back into your face.

"I mean... we can walk and talk if we need to!"

Sonic looks so much like a slighted puppy right now, his rich, dark-brown skin and stubbled face now sporting a troubled pout, and you would have found it so _cute_ if it hadn't been because of you. 

Wait.

...Cute?!

Now, feeling the blush at full force, you violently shake your head.

"Huh?!"

"N-No, we don't have to!" you blurt out.

"Have to what?!" Sonic asks in alarm.

Your brain stutters- _why now of all times?_ \- but you remember, (through some miracle unexplainable by modern science, probably,) what you wanted to say.

"Walk!" you continue. "I mean... we've barely started running; we'd be done WAY TOO EARLY if we slowed down now."

"Y'know what I mean, right?"

Sonic mulled it over.

"Yeah, I get that!" Sonic replied, face brightening. "I'll tell ya what: we'll go as far as the plaza and if you're still feeling crappy, we can talk about it there, okay?"

"Huh," you start with a smirk, feeling the prior tension melt away.

"That was surprisingly diplomatic of you, Sonic."

The older boy smirks right back at you... before punching you in the arm.

"Well slow-poke, we ain't got all night!" And he's _off_ , jumping up from his squat with renewed energy as he starts to jog ahead.

"Hey, wait up!" you shout after him, Sonic's (stomach-flippingly perfect) laughter filling the evening air.

\---

The run to the Station Square Plaza wasn't a usually long one; maybe a five minute run if you and Sonic were feeling particularly lazy that day. At the pace that the both of you were going at now however, you wouldn't make it to the plaza for another... 10 minutes at least.

You didn't mind, though. Both you and Sonic were running together, a comfortable silence in the evening air, and the awkwardness of before was pretty much gone. However, you DID occasionally notice the older teen sneaking a few curious glances in your general direction. (Not... that you were looking in _his_ general direction, mind you.) Other than that, it was just like old times.

Well... almost like old times.

Deep down, it frustrated you that you couldn't place _what_ exactly changed between you and Sonic. You still always hung out together and beat up baddies; he didn't treat you any differently than his dorky, affectionate self usually did.

But now... everything he did or said had your heart racing and palms sweating! No matter what you did, no matter how many conversations you had with Cream, no matter how hard you stared at your workshop's wall, no matter how many long, tedious monologues took place in your head, you _still_ couldn't find any answers.

You sigh a bit too strongly.

"You okay there, bud?"

Startled, you look over to see Sonic's concerned face.

"Yeah! I'm... fine!"

"You sure? You've been out of it this whole run! I... didn't pull you away from anything important, did I?" His expression went back to that worried smile.

"O-of course not!" you emphatically reply. "I've just been so busy lately; it's nice to finally get out of the lab!"

"I mean, I fixed up the Tornado,"

_(you recalibrated the engine **twice** two weeks ago)_

"cleaned up the lab,"

_(you gave up tackling that disaster after only a few days)_

"and worked on some new blueprints,"

_(blueprints that had suspiciously Sonic-like faces doodled all over them)_

"y'know... nerd stuff"!

_(Like thinking non-stop about **you**...)_

Sonic hums.

"Well. Sure _sounds_ nerd stuff to me," he replied with a smirk.

You punch him in the arm, flashing a smirk of your own.


	2. Boarders! (Lucky Number Seven: Chapter 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PART ONE - https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7170936/1/Lucky-Number-Seven
> 
> This was written back in like... early-2011!
> 
> this was originally gonna be a seven part, true to canon development of kick and gunther's relationship, both friendship-wise and romance-wise!
> 
> however, i lost access both to my region's disney xd AND the reposts of the new episodes, so i ended up losing interest. (plus i started focusing more on art but MEH)
> 
> still miss the days where kinther wasn't a rarepair... :'')

“Kick, I don’t think that this is such a good idea…”

“You… ngh… say that about ALL of my stunts, Gunther.”

The ride waged on as a seven year old Clarence “Kick” Buttowski rode up the rising sidewalk, with a six year old Gunther Magnuson sitting in the red wagon attached to the back of “Good Ol’” Trike X-5.

“Okay, on any other day I’m like… 99.5% up for your stunts, but you’ve got to look at yourself, Kick! People are staring!”

Mothers giggled, onlookers looked on in confusion, and older kids sniggered. Gunther was embarrassed, but Kick didn’t seem to notice.

Glaring slightly at the crowds, Gunther continued.

“You just have to accept the fact that you need a new-“

“I know… erg… exactly what you’re going to say and… the answer is NO,” Kick muttered, exasperation lacing his voice.

“But Kick-“

“Trike X5 is like a part of my system! If you take it away from me, you take away… an important part of me-“

“Kick-“

“And a Kick without a Trike X-5 is NOT a Kick at all-“

“KICK-“

“So dearest Gunther, I hope that I go for the both of us when I say-“

“ **CLARENCE! YOU NEED A NEW RIDE!** ” Gunther yelled in exasperation, getting up from his seat in the wagon just to show how fed up he was.

Kick glared coldly at his friend, stopping the Trike in its tracks.

“Gunther, you DO recall that the “C” word is not to be uttered in public, right?” Kick asked, the tone of his voice growing dangerous.

Gunther flinched. Ever since Gunther had unwittingly suggested his nickname, Kick had been adamant in making sure that his real name was never uttered aloud.

“Look, I’m sorry that it had to come to ‘THAT’,” Gunther said, quoting the air with his fingers. “But don’t you think that Trike X-5 is a _little_ too small for you?”

Kick scoffed indignantly. “Really Gunther? I thought that you of all people would know that no Trike is too small for KICK BUTTOWSKI!” Kick replied, obviously strained in the diminutive Trike.

“Well sending us back down the sidewalk isn’t going to make me think otherwise,” Gunther said defiantly, crossing his arms.

“I’m… not moving the Trike,” Kick dead-panned.

Suddenly, realization dawned on the boys’ faces.

They both glanced uneasily at each other, one word running simultaneously through their minds.

“Biscuits…” Kick and Gunther muttered in unison as Trike X-5 chaotically careened down the street.

XOXOXOXOX

There are never enough bandages.

For as long as Gunther had known Kick, this seemed to be an unspoken rule in the Buttowski household. 

After the disastrous conclusion of their latest stunt, the duo hobbled back home, covered in minor cuts and scrapes but nothing too serious. By the time that the boys had finished their patch-up job, the living room was covered in bandage wrappers. (And toilet paper; Kick had graciously given Gunther most of the bandages.)

They both sat on the couch in front of the TV, Kick slouching into the cushions with his arms crossed and scowling at nothing in particular, while Gunther glanced worriedly at his friend. 

“C’mon Kick, you shouldn’t be acting so hung up over one botched stunt,” Gunther said reassuringly, rubbing Kick’s shoulder comfortingly. 

“I mean, look on the bright side! The sun is shining, we’re still alive, and we’re right in the middle of an ALL DAY Rock Callahan marathon! I mean, what more could you ask for?”

“A new ride,” Kick replied despondently, sinking even deeper into the couch.

Gunther frowned. If he had been any other person, he would have been gloating at the expense of his friend over FINALLY proving him wrong at something! But seeing Kick acting so depressed drowned out any urges Gunther had to gloat.

“What about buying a new ride?” Gunther suggested.

“I spent all of my birthday money on that wagon, and in the state that it’s in, I don’t think that I could get anything back for it,” Kick replied, recalling the charred wreckage that was once a red wagon.

“What about asking Brianna for some of her pageant money?” Gunther asked again. 

“And deal with an eternity of tea parties and frilly, girly pageants? Gunther, I may need a new ride but I’M not DESPERATE,” Kick replied, shuddering inwardly at the thought of sinking so low to do something so… unmanly.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Gunther replied. “Besides, I’m getting sick of imaginary scones.” He started to munch on one of the affirmed ‘scones’. 

“There’s never enough flavor.”

Kick stared blankly at Gunther for a few moments, before continuing to indulge in the mindless explosions and cheesy one-liners coming from the action flick.

Both boys sat comfortably as they watched the movie. However, their focus on the film was interrupted again when Gunther spoke up.

“I know what you can do, Kick!”

Hearing the excitement in his end’s voice, Kick turned to look at him.

“Maybe… you could write a letter to _Santa_ and ask for a new ride! O-oh OH and you could ask him to deliver it early for you! It really helps to avoid the Christmas Rush.”

“So what do you think?” Gunther asked, faltering slightly at Kick’s dumbfounded expression.

Kick then closed his eyes with a sigh, placing a hand on Gunther’s shoulder.

“Gunther I admire your optimism, but let’s face it; with no ride, there’s no more stunts. With no more stunts, there’s no more Kick Buttowski.”

Gunther gasped in shock.

“But Kick… you can’t give up! Stunts are your CALLING, if you quit now… then you’ll just be a quitter who quits!”

Thankfully, Kick seemed to be considering his friend’s argument.

“You’re right… but what else can I do? It’s not like some fancy new ride is just going to fall out of the sky-“

“HEADS UP, DILLWEEDS!”

Situational irony seemed to have it in for the younger Buttowski as an oversized box of junk landed squarely on him, crushing him in his already ‘vulnerable’ state.

And the culprit of the box bombardment? None other that Kick’s antagonistic brother Brad Buttowski, who was smirking triumphantly at the duo over the staircase. With a tiny “yeah Brad,” the eldest Buttowski quickly slid down the railing, somehow managing to land in front of the TV.

“And just what do we owe the pleasure, _BRADLEY_?” Gunther asked sarcastically, glaring distrustfully at his eleven-year-old tormenter.

“Oh nothing in particular,” Brad replied, his voice as sweet as imitation sugar as he gingerly lifted the box off of Kick. “I just wanted to send my _warmest regards_ to my _dearest_ little brother and his little friend. That’s not a crime, right?”

“No, but throwing boxes at injured children sure is,” Kick replied, clearly displeased with Brad’s presence.

“Pfft, whatever!” Brad scoffed, instantly returning to his usual jerkass demeanor as he prepared to leave. “Smell ya later, losers.”

Kick watched his brother leave in disinterest, but something in the box managed to catch his eye.

“Hey, WAIT! Where are you going with THAT?” Kick asked incredulously, gesturing wildly towards the box.

“This old box of junk? I’m getting rid of it!” Brad replied offhandedly. 

“I might as well start cleaning up my room before Mom starts complaining-“

“No, not THAT! Where are you going with Cobalt?” Kick asked again.

Brad seemed to understand what Kick was talking about, since he pulled out a battered old blue skateboard from the box.

“This old thing?” Brad clarified. “It turns out that the whole ‘skater boy’ rep doesn’t really help me attract the _Ladies._ I’m gonna trade this in for some weights. Girls love buff guys!” Brad said, flexing his non-existent muscles.

“But Brad, that’s MOM”S old skateboard! You can’t just trade in a FAMILY HEIRLOOM for a bunch of dumb weights!” Kick pleaded, clinging to Brad’s pants-leg.

Brad smirked inwardly, reveling in how riled up his brother was getting over the skateboard.

“Yeah? Well just WATCH ME,” Brad sneered, quickly jerking his leg in order to dislodge Kick. The younger Buttowski tumbled into the side of the couch, stunned but unhurt.

“Catch me if you can, DILLWEED!” Brad cackled, and with a final “Yeah Brad”, he was off, slamming the door in his haste.

Gunther cautiously approached his ‘fallen friend,’ who was still slumped over by the couch.

“Uhh… Kick?” Are you okay?” Gunther asked hesitantly, helping Kick to his feet.

“No time to talk, Gunther,” Kick replied, instantly recovered. 

“We’ve got a ride to catch.”

XOXOXO

To the folks of Mellowbrook, this was hardly a strange sight anymore.

Kick and Gunther were trailing Brad on Gunther’s scooter; Gunther steering while Kick perched on his shoulders, looking for any sign of the arrogant pre-teen.

“Any sign of him?” Gunther asked, briefly darting his eyes off of the road towards Kick.

“Nothing yet,” Kick replied, mild frustration colouring his voice.

The duo was continuing on their fast paced trek, when something managed to catch Kick’s attention.

“Wait… I see fresh track marks!” He then sniffed the air. “And judging by the subtle aromas of dirty clothes and raging hormones, I’d say he’s THAT-A-WAY!” Kick proclaimed triumphantly, gesturing left towards the upcoming intersection.

Catching Kick’s signal, Gunther nodded.

“Roger!” Gunther replied, briefly flashing Kick a thumbs up as he sped up towards their destination.

XOXOXO

Even from a distance, the pawn-shop looked out of place.

From its fading, dirt brown exterior, decaying wooden door and a simple acrylic sign that couldn’t stack up against the self-sustaining, neon monstrosities of its competitors, the pawn-shop looked rather underwhelming compared to the other shops that littered Mellowbrook Plaza.

Brad hummed cheerfully to himself as he rode Cobalt at a leisurely pace, the pawn-shop now in his sight. Everything was going perfectly!

“I’m going to _geeeet_ buff, and get some _caaaash_ too, ha ha ha _haaaa_ ha… yeah Brad!” Brad bellowed, clearly impressed with his vocals. With a smug grin, he added, “And no dillweed in sight-“

“BRAD! Stop right there!”

Glancing over his shoulder, Brad was greeted by the sight of Kick and Gunther, who were not too far behind.

“I thought that I left you two losers at home!” Brad shouted at the duo.

“Really Brad, I thought that you OF ALL PEOPLE would know to _NEVER_ turn your back on the Buttowski!” Kick shouted back.

“And don’t turn your back on the Magnuson either!” Gunther added as an afterthought.

With an annoyed growl, Brad sped up, leaving the duo behind to eat his theoretical dust.

Kick glared as his brother sped off into the distance.

“Gunther, we’re LOSING him!” Kick shouted, gesturing wildly towards Brad in frustration.

“Look Kick, I’m going as fast as I can!” Gunther replied.

“Unless you put rockets in my scooter, _which I wouldn’t put past you_ , we’re not going to catch up to Brad any time soon!”

Kick seemed to be considering this.

“We might not have rockets, but we _DO_ have speed. Gunther, it’s time to initiate Plan C!” Kick declared, his face hardening in resolve.

“Uhh… what happened to Plan A and B?” Gunther asked.

Without a word, Kick quickly reached inside of his helmet and pulled out an unopened can of Cheetah Chug XD, a Cheetah Chug spin-off made infamous for its twelve-hour, insomnia related after-affects.

With an affirming nod from Gunther, Kick shook the can to the point where the pressure made the can shake on its own. Positioning the unstable beverage in front of Gunther’s open mouth, Kick quickly pulled the tab.

The built-up pressure caused the soda to shoot directly into Gunther’s mouth.

He quickly swallowed the soda with an audible gulp. It didn’t take long for the affects to kick in. Gunther stiffened as if he was possessed, stopping the scooter in its tracks.

Suddenly, he started shaking, nothing but mild fidgeting at first. Soon it managed to build up into full-blown trembling, leaving cracks in the pavement.

“Uhh… Gunther…?” Kick asked, glancing down uneasily at his unstable friend.

Like a hyped-up jack-in-a-box, Gunther shot up into the air, gravity seemingly holding him up as he let out an animalistic, cheetah-like roar. As quickly as he rose, Gunther plummeted to the ground, somehow managing to land upright on the scooter. He then immediately set after Brad at super human speeds, leaving a neon-green streak behind him.

Loosening his death-grip on Gunther’s head, Kick let out the breath that he had subconsciously been holding, quivering with excitement.

“Gunther… t-that was AWESOME!” Kick exclaimed, grinning manically at his friend as the duo hit the ground. “How did you even DO that?!”

“Actually-Kick-I’m-not-so-sure-myself-I-mean-it-just-sort-of-happened,” Gunther quickly replied, his words slurring together.

“With-people-flying-into-the-air-all-the-time-after-drinking-it-no-WONDER-Cheetah-Chug-XD-was-discontinued!”

XOXOXOX

Brad was still skating at full speed on Cobalt when he neared the entrance to the pawn shop. He glanced over his shoulder to see no sign of Kick and Gunther. Smirking hard, he started to slow down on the skateboard.

“HA!” Brad shouted in triumph.

“I KNEW those two fart-faces couldn’t keep up!”

He was barely moving the skateboard now, too caught up in his own self conquest to notice the neon green blur gaining fast behind him.

“No board for _diii-hiill-wuh-EED_ , more cash for _me-hee-hee-_ ”

Brad’s ‘singing’ was cut short as something quickly collided into him, making him lose his grip on the box of junk as he was knocked off of the skateboard, sending Cobalt flying in the opposite direction.

Luckily, Kick managed to snag the skateboard in its mid-air flight as Gunther sent Brad tumbling off of the skateboard.

“You two dorkazoids might have won this round, but just remember: YOU HAVEN’T SEEN THE LAST OF BRAD BUTTOWSKI!” the defeated preteen spat out, shaking his fist at the departing duo.

Looking back towards his brother, Kick sent him a mocking salute with his free hand, which only managed to infuriate brad even more.

“Okay Gunther, we’ve got the skateboard,” Kick said, holding up Cobalt in triumph. 

“So let’s turn back and go home!”

Gunther smiled sheepishly at his diminutive passenger.

“Ha-ha-funny-thing-about-that-Kick-I’d-turn-if-I-could-but-I’m-not-even-sure-if-I-can-stop.”

Kick stared blankly at his hyped-up friend.

“What do you mean “you’re not even sure if you can stop-““

The meaning of Gunther’s words both figuratively and literally hit him as the duo crashed into the entrance of the pawn shop.

With the wind temporarily knocked out of him, Kick was too dazed to notice an apparently recovered Brad walk up to him, snatch back the prized skateboard, and stuff it back into his box of junk. As he walked up to the door, Brad stopped to face Kick.

“See? I told you that you wouldn’t see the last of me,” Brad added smugly as he walked into the pawnshop, slamming the door behind him.

Still disoriented, Kick unconsciously flexed his hand, and he quickly shot up from the ground when he realized that a certain “something” was missing.

“Cobalt?” Kick muttered, wildly scanning the ground for any sign of the skateboard.

“Cobalt?!” He then started smoothing out the pavement around him. 

“COBALT?!” Kick was now lifting up anything in sight, including his semi-comatose cohort.

“GUNTHER!” Kick shouted hysterically, his face inches away from Gunther’s.

“WHERE IS COBALT?!”

With a groan, Gunther rubbed his temple as he opened his eyes to face his panicking friend.

“Erg… I’m pretty-sure that Brad-took it inside-with him, Kick,” Gunther replied groggily as he continued to rub his sore head.

Before Gunther could continue, Kick was already at the door, trying his darndest to get it open.

“WHY. WON’T. IT. _BUDGE?!_ ” Kick yelled, tugging harder at the door with every word.

“It must be locked,” Gunther said.

“WHICH. IS. WHY. I’M. TRYING. _TO OPEN IT!_ ” Kick replied in aggravation as he pulled even harder on the door frame.

With a sigh, Gunther pried Kick off of the door and placed him on the sidewalk.

“It’s no use…” Kick muttered sadly, cradling his head in his hands as he sat down on the sidewalk.

“There’s _no WAY_ that we’re going to get Cobalt back.”


	3. Get a Clue!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was written back in mid '11! 
> 
> like... this fic was mega fun to write and it still holds up surprisingly well! WHICH IS GOOD

A cloudless, sunny day. The perfect day for a birthday party.

As Stacey, Bradley, and Melody walked over to Polly's, they couldn’t help but notice the nice weather.

This would make her 7th birthday even better.

Or at least, that's how it _should_ have been.

But that's not important at the moment; we still have to introduce our heroes, who were currently discussing the upcoming party.

"So Bradley, what did you get for Polly?" Stacey asked.

"Oh, the usual," Bradley replied, adjusting his glasses rather proudly. 

"Just the **BRAND NEW** 'Screeching Ear Busters' album, "9000 Screaming Jackals and a Caterwaul!" Not to mention a coupon to the local bookstore."

"Wow Bradley, you really outdone yourself this year!" Melody remarked. "But do you really think she would want all of that stuff? I mean, she HAD been going on about that astrology kit all month."

Melody then turned around and started to rummage through the back of her wheelchair, throwing out paper, markers, shoes, a bowling ball, dust bunnies, a rubber duck, and other odd things, until she pulled out her (unwrapped) gift, an astrology kit that literally said, "Little Miss Bighead's Overly Descriptive Guide to the Cosmos."

"I guess great minds think alike," Stacey said. “‘Cause I got her the SAME thing!"

She then revealed her (also unwrapped) gift, another copy of "Little Miss Bighead's Overly Descriptive Guide to the Cosmos."

"It's almost as if we think like sisters or something," Melody replied, she and Stacey showing off big, cheesy smiles.

"As if,” Bradley muttered, rolling his eyes.

Melody smacked him upside the head.

“See Bradley, great minds _DO_ think alike!” Stacey said smugly as Bradley rubbed his head.

"Let's just get to the party before-"

" **HI GUYS!!!!!** "

The force behind the greeting was able to send the trio flying back a few blocks. Somehow, they landed in a group of strategically placed trash cans, causing garbage to fly everywhere. Looking for the source of the noise, their eyes landed on the living foghorn himself Dill, who had a megaphone in his hand.

"Hi, Dill," Stacey, Bradley and Melody replied with their usual enthusiasm.

"What's with the megaphone anyways?" Melody asked, checking to see if her glasses were cracked.

"I mean, people can already hear you 'round the world!"

To prove her point, Dill's echo seemed to reach Japan, ("Nani?") France, (Où dans le monde?") and even America. (Crazy Canadians!") It even managed to echo in outer space, where two familiar aliens were on their way to Earth.

"Ha, Ha! We'll finally be able to take over EARTH!" The first alien, (who looked a lot like Stacey,) announced in her musical monotone.

"Now that we have new stench barriers, Earth will be ours!" The second alien, (with Bradley's cap and glasses,) added, cackling nasally. Then, the brunt of Dill's greeting hit the otherworldly duo, causing their ships to lose control.

"GAAAH! Retreat, RETREAT!" Space-Stacey yelled, turning her ship around. 

"You Earthlings win this round, but we'll be BACK!"

"Yeah, and next time, we'll get cooler lines!" Astro-Bradley added, also retreating.

"So about the megaphone," Stacey asked, causing Dill's focus to return.

"WELL DUUUUH! I GOT IT FOR POLLY'S BIRTHDAY, YOU GUYS! I JUST WANTED TO CHECK IF IT WORKED."

Dill replied, the megaphone safely away from his mouth.

"Next time, you should test it at least a gazillion miles away from here," Bradley said. "My ears are ringing."

His head briefly turned into that of a bell ringing before going back to normal.

Dill looked at his watch.

"WELL LOOK AT THE TIME! IF WE DON'T HURRY UP, WE'LL BE LATE!" Dill said, waving his arms spazically while jumping up and down.

"Geez, Dill! We're getting up as fast as we can!” Stacey yelled, helping Bradley to his feet, and fixing Melody’s wheelchair. (Which thankfully had a seatbelt, keeping Melody in.)

“WELL YOU DON’T WANT LANCE AND RUSSELL COMING AFTER YOU RIGHT?!” Dill asked. 

The group could only stare blankly at Dill. 

“ **HOLY MACKERAL!! YOU GUYS ARE SOOOO HOPELESS!!!** ” Dill yelled in exasperation, unfortunately into the megaphone.

The trio had no time to react as they were sent flying in the _opposite_ direction, towards Polly’s.

“HEY! WAIT UP YOU GUYS!!!” Dill shouted –no, _shrieked_ as he raced after Stacey, Bradley and Melody, who were all several blocks ahead.

Meanwhile, the maid of honor herself was sitting on the front steps of her house, hands cradling her head, waiting for her guests to arrive.

"They should have been here by now," Polly said, frowning at the sidewalk. "But then again, if the near repetive cycle of events surrounding our lives have taught us anything," she continued, looking at her clearly dead- I mean, _OBVIOUSLY_ senent poodle, Pepperoni, "It's that everyone always arrives right about-" Cue entries of Stacey, Bradley, Melody, and Dill- "Now." she finished, smiling slightly.

"Sorry we're late," Stacey said, dusting herself off.

"No, its okay," Polly said. "You're all only fashionably late, thats all. Now come in, the party is just about ready to start!"

She lead her four guests into her humble abode.

It looked like the usual underfunded birthday party, balloons, streamers, a homemade banner that said, "Hapy BirFday, Pauly," and a frosted pink and white cake as the centerpiece.

"It might look underwhelming this year," Polly said, responding to the bewildered lookes on her guests' faces.

"But that's all that mom could do with her budget." She rubbed her head sheepishly.

"It's not so bad, Polly," Melody said. "At least nothing can make it worse-" She stopped mid sentence, sniffing the air.

Stacey, Bradley and Dill also smelled the horrid scent. But before Stacey and Bradley could comment, Dill and Melody beat them to the punch.

"EWWW!! What's that funky smell?" They said, earning annoyed looks from the other duo.

And at the door stood the terribly smelly duo, Lance and Russell, leering at the group.

"Well, well, well! if it isn't the Birthday Dork and her dweeb brigade!" Lance sneered, with a smirk that would put Gary Oak to shame.

"Yeah, dweeb brigade," Russell added, grinning impishly. 

Polly rolled her eyes, looking very unimpressed.

"Look Lance, if you're just going to theoretically "Rain on my parade," You can just turn around and leave!"

"I would, but mom says that I have watch you twerps."

" _Pfffft_ , with **_YOU_** in charge, the house would probably implode." Stacey scoffed.

"Why don't You say that to my face, Stickler?!" Lance yelled, glaring at Stacey.

She replied by glaring at him.

Soon, the room erupted with so much arguing, that no one was able to notice the arrival of the last guest.

He huffed in exasperation at the groups arguing, since he had no room to enter. In order to catch their attention, he started to howl. His ploy seemed to work, as everyone turned to stare at him.

"Hey! Who invited the wiener dog?" Lance asked.

Frank glared at the insolent preteen while frowning, which was quite a feat, considering that that he had a bag of Cheez Poopers in his mouth.

" _I_ invited him and _he_ stays." Polly said in finality.

"Pfffft, whatever," Lance scoffed, folding his arms.

"Okay, now that Frank is here, we can have the cake!" Polly said cheerfully.

"BUT POLLY, ISN'T THE CAKE SERVED AT THE END AFTER ALL THE WAITING, AND WAITING, AND WAITING, AND WAITING-"

" **DILL!** " The group yelled in exasperation.


End file.
